She ran along the water’s edge on the private island, her tanned legs pumping hard. Suddenly tired, she sat on the beach near the water to rest.
When she looked up, she saw him wading in the shallow water. She looked twice because he was a dim, gray image of himself. “Everything will be all right,” he said as he smiled at her.
He started walking away through the shallow water. As he got farther away, he became increasing dim and gradually disappeared. She didn’t understand. Her father had been dead for 20 years. Then, she realized she was smiling.
”Gran, we should plant the flowers sitting on the deck. It’s such a beautiful spring day.”
”We will, Thelma,” replied Gran. “That will give us time to spend with Max.” Max was their dog who lived in a kennel behind the house.
Thelma looked out back at Max’s kennel.
”Oh no, Gran,” Thelma exclaimed. “Max is gone! He isn’t in his kennel.”
When they walked onto the deck, there was Max. He had turned over his bowl and the watering can. The flowers were out of their containers and chewed into pieces. Max looked at them with a satisfied grin.
I’ve been a writer for a very long time and have written professionally in my field of study, so I can write effortlessly about business, finance, politics, and the U.S. economy. Even though I can write easily about these topics, they still require research since the issues change constantly.
Other topics that come easily to me are lifestyle topics like weight loss and some medical conditions such as Type II diabetes. I write about women’s issues, animal care and animals rights, as well as animal cruelty. I also write about gardening.
I have a fairly wide array of topics that are fairly effortless, but that doesn’t mean they don’t take research. I always research my articles, particularly non-fiction essays. I want my readers to have correct, good information.
Claire saw the old vehicle being lifted from the bottom of the lake. Her mother had drowned in that car and it was her fault. Her mom was teaching her to drive. She lost control of the car and they landed in the roadside lake.
The accident was months ago and she could see the damage to the car. Rust and a crooked door where her mom fought so hard to get out. Claire smiled, then looked around to see if anyone saw her. She had finally paid her mother back for all those injustices she’d suffered in her childhood.
Do I like the age I am now? This is a loaded question! Of course, the age I am now is better than the alternative of not being here at all. Is it my favorite age (or decade)? Absolutely not.
I’m grateful to be any age since I am still alive and reasonably well, but this is not my favorite decade. I’m at the age where I’m considered to get getting old. In America, when you are getting old in other people’s eyes, you suddenly become invisible. You’re not taken seriously anymore. You aren’t considered to be the wise counsel you once were. You are thought to be behind the times. The amazing thing is that none of those factors may apply to you, but ageism in the U.S. is real. Older people seeking employment are not as valuable to most employers as younger people even though we have a lifetime of learning and wisdom.
On a practical level, yes, I have aches and pains and even a full-blown chronic illness. The chronic illness bothers me more than it used to. It is now harder to control and just managing it has become aggravating. At my age, friends and family have started to die off. I had four very close losses in 2023 alone, most younger than I am. Because the world sees older people as invisible, you experience loneliness. Younger people think people my age are out of touch. If only they could know the truth! We are still 35 in our heads. At my age, most of my friends, including myself, are retired or semi-retired. Retirement is not all it is cracked up to be.
Do I like the age I am now? A resounding no, but it’s way better than the alternative.
They were finally at the cabin they would call home after a harrowing journey. The wind had torn the cover on the wagon to shreds. They felt torn to shreds by the hardships of their perilous trip.
They walked into their new home. A cabin where she was sure the wind would blow through the cracks between the logs. She could envision their rag rugs on the floor and the colorful flour sacks sitting with food around the kitchen. The cabin had potential.
There was a knock at the door. She looked out the window and there stood the Sheriff.
”Where can we go to hide?” Amy Wu asked her fellow escapee, Chien-Chi.
”I know just the place where we can get lost,” Chien-Chi replied. “Follow me.”
Amy had escaped the mob who wanted to use her tiny Chinatown store to store weapons. She had refused. Her friend, Chien-Chi was trying to help.
Amy followed Chien-Chi as he sprinted through Chinatown, He skidded into a Chinese restaurant and she followed. It was busy and a maze. Easy to get lost.
Amy followed the owner to the back of the restaurant. There was the freezer. Her purserers stood right beside it.
She only saw the ocean once in her 78 years. A few years before she had to leave home, her brother-in-law arranged a trip to the beach for she and her sisters. They spent a week at the seashore and it was a glorious time. They had their coffee on the beach in the mornings and their nightcap at night,
She spent time collecting sea shells. She kept them in a glass dome after she returned home.
When she had to leave home for good, she took her shells. She thought of her sisters and remembered the best of times.
She had always been an introvert preferring her books, her writings and her piano to people. Her circumstances magnified her introversion. A country life, little exposure to people. She would want to be with school friends, but that seldom happened. She adored her family, depended on them, felt safe and protected.
Even after life changed and she had to at least pretend to be an extrovert for her work, secretly, she could never bring herself to trust other people. When she had trusted, she’d been hurt.
She’d always heard others say that you really only had a handful of true friends in your entire life. As she entered the last quarter of her life, she had learned that to be true from her own painful experiences. By then, her heart had hardened and any affinity for people she’d had sliced away leaving a scar.
”No, child, it isn’t safe. The government forces may do a surprise check. We aren’t supposed to be on the streets.”
”But why, Mama?”
”Darling child, we live under something called martial law. They have imposed a round-the-clock order that we must stay indoors.”
”Here’s Papa. Can I go outdoors, Papa?”
“No, child. For now, we just have to remember how it was when we could elect the government officials we wanted and when we lived in a free society and work to get back there.”
The Write Scribe 
